My Heart
by ericajanebarry
Summary: Erica's thoughts during the deleted karaoke scene.


**In the screenplay for Something's Gotta Give, Nancy Meyers wrote the karaoke scene (one she deleted from the film - it's a special feature on the DVD) as occurring after Harry is given a clean bill of health by Julian, on the last night before he returns to New York.**

 **For some time now I have intended to explore Erica's feelings on that night; her reaction to his singing as well as what may have followed.**

 **There is potential for a Part II. A review or two would set me up for life.**

* * *

"This is me, singing to you," you say as you usher me to a private table near the stage.

"Wait … you're doing karaoke?!" I can't believe my ears. It shouldn't catch me so wrong-footed; since you've come into my life it's been one surprise after another.

"Baby, it's why we're here," you reply as if it were the most natural thing in all the world. _Baby._ I don't know what that endearment means to you, but it does something to me. You squeeze my hand briefly and we make eye contact. _Oh!_ That smile. I'm almost fool enough to believe you've been saving it all your life. For me.

"This is for you, Ace." As you speak into the microphone, your eyes meet mine again. _Ace?_ What _are_ you doing to me, Harry? If I didn't know better, I'd think I was something special in your eyes. "Wish me luck."

As soon as the music starts I know without a doubt I'm going to make a fool of myself. You've chosen "La Vie En Rose," and I'm beginning to wonder if there's more to your seduction than a mere attempt to get me into bed again. You've spent a week in my home now. I have shared my life with you in ways large and small, in ways I've never shared myself with anyone. Can I tell you that without frightening you off?

As you begin to sing, the tears start to fall. Here we are in the most up-and-coming club in Southampton and I'm going to ugly-cry. Oh, Harry. You chose _that_ song. You called me 'Ace.' And 'Baby.' You asked me to come dancing. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were speaking directly to my heart.

 _My heart._

It's not something I give easily. You nailed it when you said that I isolate myself; that I am, for all intents and purposes, one giant defense mechanism. That moment between us in my kitchen changed everything. You weren't passing judgment on me; you were simply calling a spade, a spade. No one's ever done that before. I wondered aloud whether you hated me, but while I was thrilled to hear you say that you didn't, it wouldn't have mattered if you did.

My heart belonged to you in that moment. It has since. It wasn't my choice. No offense, love, but you're the last person I would ever _willingly_ lose my heart to. Emily Dickinson had it right. _The heart wants what it wants._ That night in the kitchen, my heart chose you.

I think I did a decent job of acting surprised when Marin said you and she were over, of feigning shock when she proposed that you and I get together. Can I tell you the truth again? Her suggestion was confirmation of what I'd been feeling for days. I'd chalked it up to loneliness; a chink in my armor. It was - as much as I refused to admit it at the time - quite flattering, the fact that you took an interest in me - albeit in an abrasive manner. Had I simply been alone for so long that any attention at all from the opposite sex would appear romantic to me?

Imagine my relief when my daughter put words to what I'd been feeling. I'll spare you my opinion of the men whose company she chooses to keep (I'm sure you could quote it to me by now anyway), but despite all that, Marin has a knack for reading people. I'd like to think she got something from me. She called you _soulful._ That's exactly it. Underneath the smooth-talking, Brando-esque façade lies a man who feels life on a visceral level. In that regard, you and I are cut from the same cloth.

Oh, listen to you! You're going to sing it in French? Seriously, _who_ does this?

 _You've got me._

I love you, Harry. I'm in love with you. I would never have taken that walk along the beach with you, or teased you about the pretty young things you date, or agreed to pancakes in our pajamas if I hadn't been falling for you. I would not have let you kiss me, wouldn't have kissed you. And I would never have let you take me to bed if I was not in love.

And that's the trouble.

I'm in love, but what am I to you? It's obvious that you feel _something_ for me. Had we only kissed once, I could've overlooked it. And though I've never operated this way, had we only made love once, I could have put it down to a lapse in judgment. I have spent more time in bed with you in the last three days than I did in the final fifteen years of my marriage. And so here I am, being the girl. Wondering what I mean to you. Why are you making such an effort to woo me tonight, if all I am is one more notch on your bedpost?

Oh, honey … your French is an abomination! Édith Piaf is turning over in her grave right now. I laugh through the tears. I'll tease you about that later. But aren't you amazing for making the effort?! You've nearly convinced me that you feel for me something akin to what I feel for you.

"Mon cœur qui bat." _My heart._ My mouth moves, forming the words in our language as you utter their equivalent in the _langue d'amour._

"J'adore ça chérie." Do you, Harry? Are you even capable of love, or have I thrown my heart after something that will never be mine?

 **OoOoO**

As you walk off the stage, (to resounding applause, naturally. Your charm is timeless.) your eyes gaze directly into mine. Whether or not you mean to convey love by that look, it's plain as day that you seek my approval. And whether I'll live to regret it or not, my heart gets the better of my mind.

 _My heart, my heart._

I rise, standing on shaky legs, and extend my hand to you. "You sang my song!" I exclaim, and as your hand enfolds mine I pull you in, kissing your cheek. "You're something else, Sanborn."

You smile and it lights up your face. I find myself drawn to the tiny creases around your eyes, wanting to run the tips of my fingers over them. Would you tell me the stories behind them all if I asked?

"The lady approves, then?" you ask, drawing me back to the present. Is there a hitch in your breath? Does my opinion really weigh so strongly with you? Because a fool like me would interpret that as love, you know.

"She does, she does!" I glance around myself for the nearest exit, pulling you along.

"Easy there, doll," you admonish. My exuberance is more than you were expecting, but still I press on. If I don't do this now, I'll lose my nerve.

Once we're outside, I hand you my keys. You're not supposed to be driving yet, but you're not supposed to be doing any of the things you've done these past few days. I'm right beside you and the house is five minutes away. I think we can chance it.

"Take me home, Harry." My fingers encircle your wrist and I implore you with my eyes to understand. This is it; our last night. I can't have you misunderstand me now. While this sort of thing may be par for the course for you, what I'm offering is monumental for me.

 _A night without armor. *_

My fingers move from your wrist to entwine with your own as my free hand winds its way into your hair and I draw you down to me, kissing you hard. Your mouth is hungry as you respond, lifting me off my feet. I get it … why the young girls are so attracted to you. You certainly know what you're doing.

We kiss until we're breathless, and I can't help the little cry that escapes when our lips part and you set me down.

"Erica, honey, don't you think? —" you begin, but I silence you as my hands grab fistfuls of your shirt. I was aiming to hold you by the lapels, but you know, desperate times.

"I think too _much_ , Harry. I don't want to think tonight. I just want to be with you." Raising your hand to my lips, I place a kiss to the back of it. I repeat my request. "Take me home. _Please._ "

You answer with a smirk and a flash of the devil in your eyes. You walk around and open the door for me. As I slide into the seat you lean over, taking my lips roughly. I sigh against your mouth.

I am in love with you, and for tonight you are mine.

 _Et dès que je l'aperçois  
Alors, je sens en moi  
Mon cœur qui bat_

My heart, my heart. It beats for you.

* * *

 *** - borrowed this turn of phrase from a Jewel album title**


End file.
